The game was brutal.

It was obvious that Bryce was off his game, to me and everyone in the stands, including Coach when he got pulled in the fifth inning.

By the time we made it back to the house, Bryce was visibly unraveling.

He moved like every inch of him hurt. His uniform shirt was half-unbuttoned, and he kept one hand pressed lightly against his lower back, as if trying to dull the throb he wouldn't admit to.

He dropped his bag just inside the front door and immediately leaned against the wall like gravity had gotten heavier.

"I'm gonna throw up," he mumbled.

"Kitchen," I said, already tugging off my shoes and heading toward him. "Come on."

He didn't argue, which scared me more than anything.

I guided him to a stool at the kitchen counter and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. He sat hunched over, hand trembling slightly as he opened it.

Clayton hovered in the hallway, watching but not interfering. Yet.

"How bad is it?" I asked softly.

Bryce didn't look up. "Head's pounding. My side's killing me. I feel like I'm gonna puke every time I blink."

I crouched down in front of him. "You need to lie down."

"I will," he said. "Just give me a second."

But I knew that second would stretch into minutes, maybe hours, if I wasn't here to make it happen. And that's what made my heart twist, because I couldn't be.

I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until I was supposed to be on campus, hosting a panel for the incoming Pre-Med students. A promise I'd made weeks ago. One of those opportunities you couldn't just blow off, no matter how much your heart begged you to stay.

"I have to go soon," I reminded him.

That finally made him lift his head. His eyes were glassy. "What?"

"I have that panel tonight. The high school summer program Q&A."

He nodded, as though he'd remembered. "Yeah. I know. Kick ass, take names. That's my girlfriend right there." He offered up a smile. "I'll be fine."

"You're not fine," Clayton said, stepping into the kitchen, arms crossed. "You look like you got hit by a truck."

"Thanks," Bryce muttered.

"I'm staying," Clayton said, looking at me. "Go. I've got him."

Bryce groaned. "This is the worst timeline."

"Because I'm your nurse?" Clayton challenged. "Suck it up."

I handed Clayton the bottle of electrolyte water and the small pill organizer from Bryce's gym bag. "He already took meds post-game, but not for the biopsy site. He needs food, even if it's just toast. Cold compress is in the freezer."

Clayton gave a sharp nod. "Got it."

I turned back to Bryce. "Do you want me to cancel? I will. Just say it."

"No," he said immediately. "It's one night. Go be brilliant. Inspire nerdy teens. Save the world."

He tried to smile again, but it didn't quite land.

I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'll be back in two hours."

"Text me when you're done?"

"You better be asleep when I get back."

"Make Dawson enforce it."

Clayton came to hover behind him as I grabbed my bag.

"Text if anything changes," I said. "If his pain spikes, if the nausea gets worse, anything."

"I've got him," Clayton said again. "Go."

Bryce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, and dropped his head into his hands.

I hovered for a moment, wishing that I didn't have to leave. Wondering if the show could go on without me.

But Nia would kill me. And as she'd mentioned, I'd made quite the name for myself. I had to be there.

I met up with the Q&A group in the UF parking lot, all riding together on a school-sanctioned bus.

It felt like a high school field trip. But it was a Godsend for someone like me, who didn't have a car. Who would've had to ask to borrow one, again.

The ride there was filled with chatter and introductions. I could barely get my name out as I checked my phone every two minutes. Waiting. Wondering.

The auditorium at Deer Lake High was buzzing with chatter. Rows of folding chairs creaked under fidgeting teens in matching polos. Someone at the front handed out folders with school logos on the front and color-coded schedule inserts inside.

And I was supposed to be the face of poise.

A third-year pre-med student. A summer mentor. An example.

I sat on the far-left stool at the front of the room, my name on a little folded placard in front of me: Sophie Allen – Pre-Med Track.

Next to me were four other panelists, upperclassmen from other departments. Public Health. Neuroscience. Psychology. One kid in a too-tight blazer representing Emergency Medicine prep. All of them grinning like they weren't unraveling internally.

Where was Clayton? Had Bryce kept his meds down? Was he in pain?

I shouldn't have left.

"...and now we'll turn things over to our panel," the moderator was saying. "We're so excited to have five current students here to talk about their college experience, academic paths, and answer your questions."

Applause.

I smiled. Automatically.

The girl next to me introduced herself first, Abby with the biggest LinkedIn energy I'd ever seen. She launched into her spiel about double minors and research conferences. She passed it to me with a polished nod.

I cleared my throat and sat forward. "Hi, I'm Sophie Allen, and I'm currently in my third year on the Pre-Med track. I'm part of the Summer Clinical Fellows program, and I also tutor at the hospital through the MedBridge mentorship initiative."

My voice sounded flat to my own ears, but it seemed to pass.

"Any advice for students who might be considering pre-med?" someone in the audience asked.

I was too raw to be asked a question like that. "Don't pick it unless you love it. Not just the idea of being a doctor, but the process. The science, the discipline, the sleepless nights. There are easier ways to help people. You have to want this."

It was too honest.

A moment of silence. Then nods. Scribbling. Murmured thanks.

My phone buzzed in my lap.

CLAYTON

Drank a protein shake.

Watching Hairpsray.

Pain levels down.

Chill.

I wanted to cry from relief. Instead, I just folded my hands on the table and passed the next question to the panelist beside me.

Someone asked about burnout.

Someone asked about dating in college, and Abby gave a fake laugh about "time management and compromise" that made me want to crawl out of my skin.

Because I knew what compromise looked like now.

It looked like kissing your boyfriend's forehead while he fought to keep his dinner down. Like standing in front of eager-eyed teenagers while half your brain was back home, wondering if the headache was back, if the bone pain had flared, if he'd admit to it even if it had.

When the Q&A finally wrapped, and students began filing out, the moderator beamed at us and said, "Great job, guys. That was one of the most engaged groups we've had."

I nodded. I didn't remember a single thing I'd said.

As soon as we were dismissed, I stepped outside, the muggy air hitting me like a wave. I pulled out my phone again, rereading Clayton's messages three times.

No more updates, not that I'd expected as much. But it was a relief to know anything at all.

Would you want Clayton as your nurse? Not sure I would, LOL.

Teaser: The biopsy results are back. And there's a lot to talk about.

This book will update again on Monday.